


Kneepads

by myn_x



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A little angst in the beginning, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Swearing, bokuto is an anxious mess, light bondage (this is so vanilla im sorry), power bottom akaashi ayyyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myn_x/pseuds/myn_x
Summary: Bokuto thinks Akaashi has forgotten his birthday — or worse, that he's somehow pissed him off — but Akaashi's got a birthday surprise up his sleeve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhhhh i figured i'd write something to celebrate the international holiday: bokuto's birthday :D i'm a little late, but enjoy!

They’d begun dating a few months after starting university and finding out they’d enrolled at the same school. Outside the confusing, hormone-driven realm of high school, the two found they had more in common than just a love for volleyball. Found that they enjoyed so much more than setting and spiking, like eating take-out, falling asleep on each other during movies, and fucking each other brainless into the early morning hours.

Bokuto had snuck past Akaashi’s perpetual exasperation — his only defense against a volatile firecracker like Bokuto — and snuggled up close, the even to Akaashi’s odd.

Now it was Bokuto’s birthday, but he hadn’t expected this.

He hadn’t expected nothing.

He dropped his bag and shoved off his shoes, letting the tension he’d built up in anticipation for whatever Akaashi had planned during the day evaporate off his shoulders. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything; he couldn’t make his hand keep still enough to take notes, could barely hear his professors’ lectures and explanations.

But everything was clear now. No, not just clear. Sharp. Almost blinding. He was seeing _nothing_ in high-definition. The apartment was dark, the blanket thrown haphazardly on the sofa from when he’d slept on it the night before, dishes piled in the sink. The bedroom door was ajar. No Akaashi.

Maybe he forgot. But Akaashi didn’t forget things. It wasn’t like him — someone who paid so much meticulous attention to detail that he could tell exactly how many times Bokuto wore something without washing the dirty thing — it wasn’t like him to forget something as significant as his boyfriend’s birthday. And long before they’d become lovers, they’d been best friends. Fukurodani’s dynamic duo. No, Akaashi didn’t forget. This was something else entirely.

Bokuto panicked. His mind replayed all of his actions from previous days, sifting through to find what he’d done to set Akaashi off (which, he thought bitterly, really wasn’t difficult to do). He sat down on the couch — ah. He’d slept on the couch last night. Not to get away from Akaashi, but because it could take him hours to fall asleep, and when he did, he was both an unstoppable force and an immovable object. He flung his arms and legs restlessly, sometimes pinning Akaashi to the mattress with his sleep weight. Akaashi called it his “sleep tango.”

Akaashi had had an interview early this morning before his first class, and Bokuto wanted to make sure he was well-rested enough to feign extroversion and land the job. His sleep tango would have made that impossible, so he’d lain awake until after four in the morning wishing he could feel Akaashi warm and solid beside him.

He’d explained why he wanted to sleep on the couch, and Akaashi had accepted with his usual nonchalance, but Bokuto hadn’t realized that he’d closed their bedroom door a little harder than was necessary. Fucking hindsight.  

Bokuto took his thoughts with him to the shower, his mood spiraling downward like the water flowing down the drain. Whereas he could wash away the day’s grime from his skin, he couldn’t shake the worry, the festering worry, that he’d messed up somewhere. It was his birthday and Akaashi was pissed at him. Probably because of the couch thing. Probably because he ate his leftovers from their favorite restaurant. Probably because he was Bokuto and not someone else.

He toweled off and considered his grimace in the mirror. Happy birthday to me, he thought. He was too old, he knew, and they’d known each other far too long, he knew, for him to worry himself into a frenzy. It wasn’t logical, he knew, but he worried anyway.

Bokuto burrowed under the covers on Akaashi’s side of the bed; his boyfriend’s scent, a mix of his shampoo and a crisp, woodsy smell, was heavy in his nostrils. He checked birthday texts and voicemails from friends, old teammates, and family, but instead of diverting his attention, each one reminded him how much he wanted Akaashi.

He heard the jangle of keys in the lock and froze.

“I’m home,” Akaashi called from the entryway.

“Welcome back,” Bokuto said into the pillow. His voice was weak, like he was on the verge of crying. _He’s come back to break up with you_ , worry whispered in his ear. He shivered.  

“I wasn’t expecting you today, since it's so late,” he said a little louder, lifting his face from the pillow so Akaashi could hear him.

“I do live here, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi said in his usual exasperated tone. “I’m gonna to go to the bathroom.”

Bokuto felt panic settle in his chest. Akaashi hadn’t stuck more than his head in the room, hadn’t given him his I’m-back kiss, hadn’t told him happy birthday. Bokuto wanted to sink deeper into the mattress. _Wrong, wrong, wrong_. This was all wrong. He heard the shower, then several minutes later, nothing.

Then, “I leave you alone for half a day and you convince yourself I’m mad at you?” Akaashi was at the bedroom door, from what Bokuto could tell under the covers.

“I haven’t — I mean, what are you talking about?”

“You’re sulking. On my side of the bed. And I don’t want your sulk germs, you big lug.”

At that, Bokuto tossed back the covers from his face. Was that… affection in Akaashi’s voice? He turned to look at Akaashi and all the air left his lungs in a hiss, like he'd gotten sucker-punched, his blood draining from his face. Probably to go somewhere south.

Akaashi stood in the door with his hands on his hips, in nothing but the shortest fucking shorts Bokuto had ever seen and what looked like Bokuto’s old kneepads. The shorts accentuated his hips, which were slimmer than Bokuto’s (but made him exquisitely pliant in bed). The valleys and ridges of his abs were prominent even in the dim light filtering into the room from the hallway.

“‘Kaashi, what — ?”

“I bet you came home and convinced yourself that I was mad at you.” Akaashi shifted his weight to one leg, bending a knee. He crossed his arms, biceps and shoulders nearly as bulky as Bokuto’s own. “That I’d leave you, or something stupid like that. What do I have to do to convince you I’m here to stay?”

Bokuto noticed every fluid movement of his muscles, especially those visible in the space between the kneepads and his damned, wickedly obscene shorts. Their school’s volleyball team had done wonders for Akaashi’s legs, as it did his musculature in general; he’d filled out considerably since they’d joined.

Bokuto had seen nothing when he’d arrived to an empty apartment, but he was seeing everything, _his world_ , before him now. Akaashi knew anxiety gnawed at him incessantly, but he took his worry and flipped it on it’s head, at least for a little while, with a tender patience Bokuto never knew he had.  

“I thought you’d forgotten or something,” Bokuto muttered. He had to look away. Akaashi had stepped closer, and they were, in fact, his kneepads, although clean and a little loose at the top, where Bokuto’s thighs had stretched them over years of use.

“I know you’re not much for material goods,” Akaashi said, stopping at the foot of the bed, “so I wanted to try something new. I’m sorry if I made you worry, Koutarou.”

There it was. Every time Akaashi used his given name, Bokuto felt like he’d caught a falling star.

Bokuto turned over and sat up, now facing Akaashi head on. “Yeah,” he said, seeing where this was going, “not _material_ goods.” Up close, he could see the shorts were made of some type of stretchy spandex; they looked like boxer briefs, but with much, much less material.

Akaashi leaned forward onto the bed and crawled toward Bokuto, his expression even but with the slightest flicker of mischief in his ash-grey eyes. He bit his lip, transforming his look of disinterest to one of greed, thirst, urgency. “Happy birthday, Koutarou.”

Akaashi’s hoarse whisper sent heat straight to Bokuto’s belly, shot an arrow straight through his heart, scattered his worry to nothingness. Akaashi was close enough to touch now, so Bokuto pulled him forward and Akaashi wrapped his kneepad-clad legs around Bokuto, sinking into his lap.

Grateful that he’d eschewed putting on a shirt before climbing in bed, Bokuto pulled Akaashi flush against him, kissing up his neck. When Akaashi pushed against him, he stopped.

“What? What’s wrong?” The misgivings crept back in; maybe he’d been too forward, maybe he —

“Kou, I want you to let me do everything.”

Bokuto’s already-deep blush deepened further. Usually he did all the work while Akaashi came undone underneath him. “Keiji. Are you sure?”

Akaashi only nodded before rising up on his knees to straddle Bokuto and sinking a kiss on Bokuto’s forehead. He’d been growing his hair out, and the damp midnight strands tickled Bokuto’s face as Akaashi scattered kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, and finally his lips. He reached to flick on the lamp on the bedside table and grabbed something else: the tie that spent more time around Akaashi’s wrists than it did around either of their necks.

Bokuto looked up with him with a question glittering in his eyes.

“We can stop any time you want, but I’m only tying up your hands so that you won’t be able to touch me,” Akaashi explained.

“So that I can’t touch you?” Bokuto whined. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Want me to gag you too?” Akaashi asked, more playful than threatening.

Bokuto blinked in the time it took Akaashi to tie his wrists above his head to one of the rungs in the headboard. _Where the fuck did he learn that?_ Bokuto thought, feeling helpless as Akaashi tugged his shorts down to his ankles. He was half-hard from seeing Akaashi in his kneepads and the kissing, but when Akaashi grabbed him, his dick sprang to its full, erect length.

Akaashi stroked him slowly and reached for the bottle of lubricant tucked into the space between the bed and the bed frame. He left it on the sheets beside them, forgotten for the moment.

Bokuto jerked, a gasp hissing between his teeth, when Akaashi took him in his mouth and lolled his tongue around the head of his cock. Bokuto leaned back, looking up and thanking the heavens for Akaashi’s sweet, hot mouth as it slid up and down his length. He wanted to grab Akaashi’s hair, to pull at him; his hips bucked, but he strained to keep still, content with letting Akaashi have control.

Because forward Akaashi was so… captivating.  Akaashi didn’t suck him off often, but he was at his most beautiful right after waking up and when he stared into Bokuto’s eyes while his lips were around him. He looked damn near wrecked himself as he gave Bokuto the best leg-shaking, toe-curling, bone-liquefying blow job he’d ever had.

Bokuto watched as Akaashi’s cheeks bulged and hollowed rhythmically. “Don’t force it, Keiji.”

With his free hand, Akaashi patted Bokuto's thigh to let him know he was fine. He looked up, just the tip in his mouth now, and ravenous look in his eyes nearly ruined Bokuto. Akaashi didn’t have to talk during sex; the looks he gave Bokuto while they fucked each other senseless was sometimes more than he could handle, like looking at the sun — and he did enough embarrassing dirty talk for the both of them anyway.

Akaashi pulled off before Bokuto could come. Bokuto whimpered and Akaashi sidled back into his lap, throwing his arms around his neck and rolling his hips. “Dinner and a show. One was for me, the other for you.” Akaashi’s mouth was wet, and Bokuto wanted nothing more than to lick the taste of himself off Akaashi’s lips.

“Very, ah, funny, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto slurred as Akaashi grinded down on him. He felt Akaashi’s hardness against his cock through his shorts.

For all Akaashi’s apparent expertise with knots, Bokuto was able to yank his hands free from the headboard. Though his wrists were still bound, he threw his arms around Akaashi’s next to trap him close. With another sharp tug, the tie came loose, and Bokuto reached down to fondle Akaashi’s ass through the shorts.

“How can you do that and not expect me to wantto touch you?” Bokuto growled into Akaashi’s ear. His lips traveled from Akaashi’s jaw to his lips, kissing him sloppily.

“I’ll let you do want you want, Keiji, but I fucking need to touch you,” he continued. He pulled at Akaashi’s shorts, balling the stretchy fabric in his fists.

There was a tearing sound, and Akaashi stilled. “Did you just… rip my shorts?”

 _Oh, shit_ , Bokuto thought. Then a laugh bubbled from Akaashi’s chest, a rich sound that made Bokuto’s heart feel full. _Oh, shit_ , he thought again.

“I guess I did.” Bokuto slid two fingers in the rip, twisting and tugging until it became big enough for him to get his fist through. “What now?”

“Well, this wasn’t how I planned it would go, but now I can fuck you with them on.” Akaashi tilted his head as he considered the proposition. “Yes, I think I will.”

“When you say you're gonna fuck me, uh, do you mean — ?” Bokuto left his question unfinished.

“No, you’re still topping. But technically I’ll be on top. Here, put this pillow behind you.”

Bokuto took the pillow from Akaashi and placed it between his back and the headboard. As he sat back, he watched Akaashi reach behind to find the hole in his shorts, ripping forward so that he was completely exposed, his cock swinging free from the fabric.

“But first, I want you to watch.”  

Bokuto’s eyes widened once he realized Akaashi’s intention. Akaashi sat back and spread his legs in one fluid motion, pouring enough lube to coat his fingers, then reaching down to press against his entrance. He teased at the puckered skin, rubbing circles with his index finger, and Bokuto watched in wonder as Akaashi’s eyes fluttered shut and his middle finger disappeared inside him. He pulled in and out at an angle, his lips parting in a lovely o. His brow furrowed when he added another finger, his strokes erratic and noisy. He poured more lube where his fingers slid in and out, small moans floating off of his lips.

Akaashi’s trembling legs and the rise and fall of his stomach and his sunset pink cheeks transfixed Bokuto; it was somehow more sensual to watch Akaashi’s hips roll to meet the thrusts of his fingers than it was for Bokuto to entice cries out of his lover with just his hands. He could watch Akaashi fuck himself for hours.

“Keiji, you’re beautiful.” The words escaped Bokuto’s mouth in a near-whisper.

Akaashi opened his eyes, withdrawing the three fingers that were deep inside him.

“I want to fuck you, Koutarou.” Akaashi’s voice was breathy and weak. He crawled to Bokuto, taking the head of his cock into his mouth again and squeezing with his lips so that it popped back out — with a deliciously wet sound that made Bokuto groan — before grabbing the lube and dribbling it onto Bokuto's cock. Akaashi stroked him with one hot, slippery hand, and with the other he pressed into himself. They were both panting, shaky breaths rattling their chests.

“I knew you were, ah, good at multitasking, but this, _fuck_ , oh god, this is fucking awesome, Keiji,” Bokuto whined. “And the _kneepads_.”

“I’m going to ride you until you can’t form sentences,” Akaashi said, biting his lip. He wiped both hands on the sheets and draped himself over Bokuto, hovering over his flushed cock.

“Keiji, _please_ , fuck!” Bokuto yelped as Akaashi sat right on his dick and seemed to devour him. Akaashi was tight even when fully loosened, and heat seemed to squeeze him, as if Akaashi wanted to wring out his life force. He yelled again when Akaashi started moving up and down, braced on bent knees, face drawn in concentration.

Bokuto wasn’t sure if he still wasn’t allowed to touch, but Akaashi didn’t protest when he raked his fingers down Akaashi’s thighs, nails catching in the fabric. He caressed Akaashi’s sweaty cheeks and looked into his eyes, his gold reflecting back at him. Bokuto’s fingers dug into Akaashi’s hips to help him bounce; he angled his hips so that each time Akaashi sank down, he was inside him up to his balls, relishing the soft, lewd moans Akaashi couldn’t smother by biting on his lip.

“Fuck me, Keiji, just like that.” Bokuto thought skin-to-skin contact was great, but it was another thing entirely to see Akaashi in his kneepads and those ripped shorts, looking wholly undone as he rode him like he wanted to prove that he, too, could fuck, and fuck good. Bokuto thrusted up slightly, matching Akaashi’s movements, and Akaashi’s hands were pulling at his hair, dragging down his chest, grasping at his hands.  

“Kou-ta-rou,” The smack of each thrust punctuated each syllable of his name, and Akaashi moaned loudly — almost a scream, to Bokuto’s satisfaction — as Bokuto’s cock slid back and forth against that spot. They were both trembling, gasping, close.

Bokuto cradled Akaashi close when his legs gave out, then he took over, thrusting up sharply, fucking up into him desperately. Akaashi could come like this without Bokuto even touching his dick, but Bokuto was determined that they should come together, or at least try to, so he took Akaashi in hand and touched him how he liked: sharp, upward jerks and slow, lingering strokes all the way to the base of his cock. He rolled his thumb over the head, spreading the precum that spilled out of the slit.

Despite his efforts, Bokuto came first. He couldn't not come, not with Akaashi twitching around him. His hand still stroking Akaashi while the other gripped his waist, Bokuto dragged him down so that he was as deep as possible when he spilled over. He licked Akaashi’s neck just below his jawline — a trick he used to get Akaashi to come, which was “so unfair” — and was pleased when Akaashi threw back his head and arched his back, moving in tandem with his hand.

Semen splattered Bokuto’s chest and stomach as Akaashi came and he collapsed in Bokuto’s arms with a shaky laugh. He turned to look up at Bokuto, who caught his lips in a kiss.

“Did I do a good job?” Akaashi’s murmur was warm against Bokuto's lips.

“A good job?” Bokuto was almost offended. “Keiji, that was fucking amazing. Amazing fucking. Whatever.”

“Good, good,” Akaashi mumbled. “And speaking of jobs, I got it.”

“Of course you did, 'Kaashi.” Bokuto knew Akaashi well enough to see that he was excited and had wanted to tell him from the beginning. 

“Kou. Let’s go shower before we’re fused together.”

Neither could find the energy to move; Bokuto was still inside Akaashi, only half erect, and they were pressed together, hot and sticky and still breathless, but happy. Content. Bokuto wrapped his arms around Akaashi, his fingers tracing random patterns up and down his back.

Bokuto was starting to nod off when he heard Akaashi singing. Akaashi. Singing. To him, he realized, as he caught the lyrics to the birthday song. He hugged Akaashi tighter, momentarily interrupting him. Akaashi batted at him, and then finished. Bokuto squeezed him again.

“Maybe fused is good,” Bokuto said, planting a kiss on Akaashi’s temple. “Thank you, Keiji.”

For weeks after, Bokuto sometimes found Akaashi in nothing but his kneepads. It was so often, actually, that'd get hard just thinking about them, so he had to switch to regular kneepads for practice; otherwise, volleyball was impossible. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ohmykokuroo.tumblr.com) || [other tumblr](http://zeppellii.tumblr.com) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/lovedeluxxxe)


End file.
